


the warning signs have all been bright and garish

by lanyon



Series: i've got your blood under my fingernails [8]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: ccbingo, M/M, UST at DEFCON 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t get me wrong – I totally get that you guys have the bromance of the century but it’s a bit freaky when you finish each other’s sentences.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or horrified that you think I have any insight into the workings of Barton’s brain.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the warning signs have all been bright and garish

It’s peaceful. Coulson doesn’t want to read too much into that. He and Barton are in Malibu on a glorified babysitting detail. Stark is somewhere within the bowels of the house and, thus far, the foundations haven’t been shaken although Stark’s choice of ambient music leaves a little to be desired.

 

Coulson’s working on some paperwork and if Barton’s asleep next to him, it means nothing, except that Barton tired himself out staying up all night. He’s been shooting at targets in the sea while testing an array of Stark Industries night vision goggles. Due to an incident with the Staten Island ferry a number of years ago, Barton is no longer allowed to practice maritime maneouvres within sight of the Borough of Manhattan so he was endearingly enthusiastic about this training venture.

 

Coulson turns a page and is intent on deciphering Banner’s report when he hears a soft intake of breath. He raises his head.

 

“Ms Lewis.”  
  
Her eyes are wide. Coulson suppose that this might be misconstrued. Barton’s head is almost in Coulson’s lap, pillowed by a displaced couch cushion. He’d sort of slowly collapsed onto the couch about an hour ago and Coulson didn’t have the heart to move him.

 

“Can I help you?”  
  
Darcy shakes her head. “No, I – I can come back?”  
  
Coulson purses his lips.  “I assure you that you’re not interrupting anything, Ms Lewis.”

 

“Please call me Darcy. I’d a high school teacher who called me ‘Ms Lewis’ and he gave me the willies.”

 

“I’ll do my best to remember that, Darcy,” says Coulson and he knows his expression is grave and Darcy is wrong-footed but, secretly, it amuses Coulson that only three people in the world can interpret his expressions.

 

“Is Clint okay?”

 

“He’s just over-tired,” says Coulson, all agreement and amiability. “How ‘s your new job?”

 

Darcy wrinkles her nose. “Well. It’s okay. I’m basically, what? Tony’s assistant’s assistant’s assistant?”

 

Coulson’s fingers move minutely on Barton’s chest. “I imagine that life with Stark Industries must be … eventful?” He says it as though he is unaware of the irony. He’s an agent of SHIELD; his perspective is somewhat skewed.  
  


Darcy grins. She comes over to perch on the coffee table opposite Coulson, even though there are three other armchairs in the room.  “So. What’s going on with you and Clint?”

 

Coulson frowns and looks down at Barton, whose expression hasn’t changed. “Going on?” He’s going to try plausible deniability and it’ll be pretty plausible because he doesn’t really know what’s going on. He knows what he wants to be going on but he also knows that what they already have verges on unprofessional and two caresses short of a mountain of paperwork.

 

“Don’t get me wrong – I totally get that you guys have the bromance of the century but it’s a bit freaky when you finish each other’s sentences.”  
  


“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or horrified that you think I have any insight into the workings of Barton’s brain.”

 

Darcy tilts her head to the side. “Can he really be comfortable like that?”  
  
Barton’s legs are hanging off the arm of the couch and his arm is dangling off the side. He takes up an inordinate amount of room. Coulson supposes that he should wake him up and suggest that he find a guest room in which to crash. He glides his thumb over Barton’s jaw-line and the drag of stubble sends a shiver down his own spine.

 

Barton licks his lips, frowning just a little, and Coulson imagines that, having spent the night outside, Barton’s lips must taste salty, the night air having sewn the sea into his skin.

 

“Isn’t it pretty cool that we work for SHIELD and that  –“ starts Barton, before he cracks a wide yawn.

 

“-Steve’s weapon _is_ a shield? Yes, Agent Barton.” Coulson refuses to meet Darcy’s eyes.  “Go to bed-“

 

Barton, his characteristic recalcitrance softened by sleep but no less potent for it, shakes his head and burrows against Coulson’s side. “Five more minutes, Phil.”  
  
Within seconds, he’s asleep again. Now Coulson looks at Darcy who’s currently sporting that knowing expression that they must teach girls in middle school or something.

 

His eyes narrow. “Nothing’s going on, Ms Lewis.” 

 

It is a profound lie, of course, and both of them know it as they look at Barton, his cheeks flushed with sleep and his lips parted slightly. Coulson gets that sinking feeling that he always associates with the Avengers, but mostly with Clint, and he doesn’t even notice when Darcy leaves the room or when he sets his files to the side. He does notice when Barton lets out a quiet breath and shifts a little closer and then it’s easier to gaze out the window and strain to hear the sea through soundproof glass than it is to focus on his hand, resting, flat on Barton’s chest, which is rising and falling more gently still than the tide outside.  

**Author's Note:**

> +Title from The Mountain Goats' "Old College Try".  
> +Written for Bingo prompt: "Watching each other sleep"  
> +Clint's allowed to be oblivious while he's asleep. Phil's just battling with denial.


End file.
